


Stress Reliever

by TC (thecollective)



Series: Steve with the magic hands [1]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - No Powers, Hand Jobs, M/M, POV Tony Stark, Smut, Tony Stark Has Issues, Tony Stark Needs a Hug, massage therapist Steve, no plot here, smut not flowers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-25
Updated: 2016-09-25
Packaged: 2018-08-17 05:56:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,846
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8132891
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thecollective/pseuds/TC
Summary: The first touch of the man’s hands on Tony’s bare flesh is like the day he brought Dum-E to life: it’s a leap forward, and it’s something he can never step back from. Pepper was so, so right; he needed this.The masseur looking like a golden Adonis was just a bonus, really.(Plot? What's that?)





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [jacksqueen16](https://archiveofourown.org/users/jacksqueen16/gifts).



> So, um, I had a massage yesterday. The masseur was hot and had strong hands. There was a plot bunny. I had to follow it. 
> 
> Tony & Steve are not superheroes in this story. The kidnapping of Tony Stark, however, did take place and are briefly mentioned. Don't ask how Tony escaped the cave in this AU because...*shrugs*. 
> 
> Disclaimers: 1) I don't own these characters.  
> 2) Massage therapists are trained professionals and treat their clients accordingly. This is fantasy. 
> 
> This is my first time writing in this fandom or for this pairing. Be gentle.

Pepper is going to kill him. Well, first she’ll make him sign all the proper paperwork to legally tie up all of Stark Industries’ loose ends, and then she'll kill him. Probably slowly and methodically. With a paperclip.

He’d promised her so many things over the years: monogamy (which he was surprisingly good at), loyalty (easy to be loyal to someone like Pepper), and honesty (that one wasn’t so easy). After their breakup (and before, if he's being honest), he’d spent too much time in the workshop, and he’d worried Pepper.

A worried Pepper is never a good thing, which is why he’d promised her that he’d do something for himself. “You spend more time with your robots than humans,” she’d complained. “Please, Tony, just do this for me. I worry about you.”

It’s hard to deny Pepper anything, especially after he’d broken her heart.

Ten imagined scenarios in which he was gutted by office supplies later, Tony actually summons the courage to walk through the doors into the massage therapy office. The girl at the front desk--Darcy, according to her nametag--smiles brightly at him. “Hi, you here for an appointment?”

Tony bites back a hefty dose of sarcasm as he replies, “Yes, I’ve got a 10 am with Steph.”

The girl’s smile falters. “Um, Steph?”

“Yes, my assistant made the appointment for me. Well, she used to be my assistant. Now she’s kind of my boss. Long story.” Tony waves his hand, as if to say the details are insignificant. The girl’s eyes grow wide.

“You’re, you’re,  _ you’re Tony Stark. _ ”

“The one and only. Well, unless you read the tabloids and believe that clone explanation for my kidnapping in 2008. Kidnapping: yes. Clones: no. Everyone knows that cloning technology is glitchy at best. Well, maybe they don’t know. But they should. Anyway, about my appointment. With Steph.”

The girl hurriedly thumbs through the paperwork in front of her. “Yeah, dude, I’m sorry, but I could’ve sworn your assistant said  _ Steve _ . Steph is with someone else at 10.”

Tony shrugs, tries to play it off like it doesn’t matter (except it does, it totally does, and the idea of a man’s hands on him after being in  _ that cave _ that was so dark and where the air was so thick it choked him and he really, really, really needs to get control of himself before everyone knows that Tony Stark is broken. Pepper doesn’t need another PR fiasco).

“Mr. Stark?” The voice isn’t the receptionist (Darcy, her name is Darcy). It’s a strong voice, but gentle, and it pulls Tony from the downward spiral of self-pity. When Tony turns to meet the eyes that belong with the voice, the air gets knocked from his lungs (but not in a bad way, no, not like the cave; this is the  _ exact opposite _ of everything he experienced in that hellhole). The eyes are the warmest blue, like the inviting waters at the beaches of Phuket. Tony wants to dive right into them.

“Mr. Stark?”

“Oh yes, hi. Call me Tony.”

The eyes crinkle at the corners. “I’m Steve.” The man is smiling as he extends his hand. “Nice to meet you.”

The man’s hands are as warm as his smile, and he’s very strong. With big hands. Tony’s brain takes a quick detour down south to survey the rest of the landscape, and  _ yeah _ , big everything. “If you’ll just follow me, Tony, we’ll get you all settled.”

The man--Steve--turns away and Tony nearly groans at the sight of an ass so perfect that he feels the urge to pledge allegiance to it. As Tony follows the man down the hallway, he glimpses the receptionist’s smirk out of the corner of his eye. “Have fun,” she mouths, like she knows the dirty parade of thoughts currently gallivanting in Tony’s brain.

Steve leads him to a room that’s dimly lit. It’s sparse--just a massage table and a small cupboard with towels stacked on it. There’s meditative music playing in the background, and a painting on the wall that’s all soft swirls and soothing colors. “Nice, uh, digs you got here. I like the art.”

Steve smiles again, but this time it’s softer, sweeter. More genuine. “Thank you. I, um, did it. The painting.”

“You’re really good. I mean...It’s uh, really good.”  _ Fuck, Tony, get a grip. _

Steve thanks him and then instructs him to “disrobe” and lay face down on the massage table. “I’ll knock in a few minutes, and you let me know if you’re ready,” the man says. The door shuts with a click and Tony’s suddenly anxious in a way he hasn’t been since before he got a hole in his chest. He disrobes, as instructed, and lays face down on the table. The arc reactor causes the cushion beneath him to glow the faintest blue, so he smushes himself down further into the pillow to dim the light. It’s painful--he hasn’t slept on his stomach since before Afghanistan--but he’s determined not to freak out the massage therapist. It’s probably a bit selfish of him, but he  _ wants _ Steve to want to touch him.

There’s a soft tapping on the door and then Steve enters. Tony’s acutely aware of every move the man makes. He covers Tony with a sheet, and it’s done so tenderly that Tony wants to cry. “Tony, is there any part of your body you want me to avoid? Some people, they don’t like their hands or feet done, cause it’s too sensitive.”

“You touch anything you want, sweetheart, but, uh, you’ll probably want to avoid the chest. Pepper’ll kill me if Stark technology gets damaged.” Tony didn’t mean to say “sweetheart”, and he hopes that being face-down on a massage table muffled some of that.

There’s some ruffling, and then the strong hands-- _ god damn they’re big-- _ lift his torso slightly from the table and slide a pillow underneath his chest. It relieves some of the pressure from the arc reactor; the metal doesn’t bite into his chest quite so much. Tony is grateful and he says so.

“My job is to make you relax, Tony. Can’t do that if you’re in pain the entire time.” The masseur uncaps a bottle. “Is lavender okay or would you prefer another scent?”

“It’s, uh, it’s fine.” He tries, and fails, not to let his mind wander into the gutter when he hears the slippery  _ slick slack _ of the oil between Steve’s hands. He burrows his face into the cushion, thanking all the deities that Steve can’t see his face at the moment.

“Take a deep breath,” Steve says. “I’m going to start with your shoulders.”

The first touch of the man’s hands on Tony’s bare flesh is like the day he brought Dum-E to life: it’s a leap forward, and it’s something he can never step back from. Pepper was so, so right; he needed this.

The masseur looking like a golden Adonis was just a bonus, really.

A really, really, really big bonus.

Steve methodically works out the tension and kinks in Tony’s shoulders, being very careful to tell Tony where he’s going to touch him before he moves his hands. It puts Tony at ease, and for the first time since Afghanistan, he’s completely comfortable with leaving his body in the hands of someone else who isn’t Pepper.

When Steve reaches Tony’s arms, Tony flinches out of habit. “Sorry,” Tony mumbles. “Not used to having people touch me on my arm.” (Unless they’re twisting his arms behind his back and twisting and twisting and twisting until they might snap).

Steve hums thoughtfully and then interlaces his right hand with Tony’s. He leaves their hands like that while he rubs Tony’s bicep with his other hand, and it’s surprisingly intimate. “How’s the pressure?” Steve asks.

“Perfect. It’s perfect. Everything’s perfect.”

“Okay, I’m going to do your legs now.” He covers Tony’s back with the sheet and Tony misses Steve’s hands immediately. He’s not disappointed, however, when next he feels Steve’s hands on his thigh. His dick isn’t disappointed either.  _ Down, boy. _

“You have strong legs,” Steve murmurs, almost absentmindedly. He smooths the lavender oil down to Tony’s calves, where he spends quite a bit of time making sure it gets completely rubbed in. If Tony didn’t know better, he’d say that Steve had a leg kink. (Well, actually, he doesn’t know better, and maybe Steve likes well structured legs and yeah, Tony’s legs look really good in heels but that’s not something to mention in polite company, according to Pepper.)

When Steve’s hands reach his ass, Tony gives up all pretense of being in control of his dick. He’s pretty sure that Steve’s seen every kind of bodily reaction, and hey, if Steve notices the pitched tent, Tony can just blame his heart condition, right? (That’s not how the body works but who cares?) Steve’s palming his ass--very professionally, of course--and it’s all Tony can do to  _ not _ purr like a cat and arch into Steve’s touch. He thinks long and hard about the lecture Pepper would give him if he gets slapped with a lawsuit from the hot masseur. It helps him regain a modicum of composure. He gets lost in the feeling of Steve’s hands massaging soothing circles on his legs and nearly drifts off to sleep. (He’s  _ not _ ignoring this pervasive sexual tension. He’s  _ not _ .)

“Tony,” Steve’s voice is in his ear, deep and husky. “I need you to turn over.”

Tony gulps and silently reminds his dick to behave. His dick, as always, has a mind of its own. He flips to his back, squeezing his eyes shut, and is really grateful when Steve doesn’t say anything about the obvious boner he’s sporting. He almost forgets about the arc reactor entirely until Steve gently says, “Let me know if I’m getting too close to your, uh, what do you call this technology, anyway?”

“Arc reactor,” Tony says, barely more than a whisper. “It’s an arc reactor. It powers my heart.”

“Incredible,” Steve says with awe. He rubs more oil onto his hands before he starts in on Tony’s hands again. It’s almost worshipful, the way Steve rolls and pulls and caresses each digit as if it were something to be praised. Tony wants to make some quip about how his hands are the “money-makers”, but his brain’s preoccupied with keeping his dick under control. He bites back a moan when Steve massages near his collarbone.

“You don’t have to be quiet,” Steve tells him. “I don’t mind.”

Tony lets out a porn-worthy moan when Steve’s hands reach the nape of his neck, just brushing against the tip of his hair.  _ Dear god, this might be better than sex _ . Oh shit. Did he say that out loud?

Steve laughs. “You haven’t had sex with me.”

Tony’s brain short-circuits. He’s pretty sure he’s doing a good imitation of a codfish with the way his mouth is opening and closing, completely flabbergasted. “That’s, uh, a good point,” he says after several stunned seconds of silence. “Perhaps, uh, it’s a theory that should be tested. For science.”  _ For science? Seriously, Tony? _

“I don’t know much about science,” Steve admits. His hands swipe down Tony’s torso, along his sides, still maintaining a careful distance from the arc reactor. “I’m an artist, an appreciator of the human form.” His fingers skim along the edge of the sheet, pulling it down slightly. Tony watches as Steve wraps one corner of it around his index finger, revealing the top of Tony’s right hipbone. Those blue eyes, framed by the darkest most perfect lashes, are full-blown with lust and Tony knows he’s not alone in this. Nope. Steve is right there with him. He gives Steve the slightest of nods and that’s all the man needs to push the sheet all the way down, baring Tony completely. There’s nothing to dim or filter the arc reactor now, but Steve doesn’t seem to mind so Tony quashes the self-doubt before it really has a chance to begin.

“Did you know,” Steve says, “That the human body can be aroused through the lightest of touches?” Steve, beautiful Steve, traces Tony’s pelvic bone, showing all the self-restraint that Tony wishes he had. He pours some more oil on Tony’s inner thighs, and rubs the sensitive muscles there.

Tony moans again, louder now. “Please,” he says.

“Please what?”

“ _ More. _ ” (More touching. More talking.  _ More Steve. _ )

Steve’s big, perfect hands wrap around Tony’s dick and Tony is 100% certain that the earth stops turning. He hasn’t felt like this since, well, ever, and he keens into Steve’s touch. Steve’s hands are slick with oil and  _ holy shit _ he’s never going to let anyone who isn’t a trained massage therapist touch his dick ever again (and yes, that includes himself). It’s the perfect amount tension, the perfect amount of twist and pull and slick and slide.

“How’s the pressure?” Steve jokes. He’s not really expecting an answer, judging by the way he thumbs the slit of Tony’s cock and Tony pretty much becomes a quivering, moaning, mess. He’s stringing together a slew of curse words but he’s also all but begging for Steve to  _ come closer _ . He needs to get his hands on that perfect golden skin and if he doesn’t, he might actually die.

Steve moves so he’s standing next to Tony’s torso. He’s still got his right hand on Tony’s cock, but his other hand he places on Tony’s chest. Not quite on the arc reactor, but close enough to Tony’s heart that he’s sure the man can feel the irregular rhythm thumping in Tony’s chest. Tony clasps Steve’s hand between both of his own, brings it up to his mouth and gently kisses Steve’s fingertips. The hand on Tony’s dick stutters, and he hears Steve suck in a breath.  _ Like that, don’t you?  _ Tony sucks on Steve’s ring finger, massaging it with his tongue at the same tempo Steve is jacking his cock. Tony’s always been a quick study, and it doesn’t take him long to figure out that the more lip service Steve gets (pun intended), the more action Tony gets from Steve. Steve’s breath is harder than Tony, and Tony wants to make the other man utterly breathless. He curls Steve’s hand around his own and drops kisses on each knuckle.

Apparently, that’s Steve’s  _ thing _ because he groans, then leans down and attacks Tony’s mouth with his own. It’s hard, and messy, and  _ fuck _ Tony has never been so desperate to come in all his life. Steve’s lips on his is the thing that sets him over the edge. He comes with Steve’s hand on his dick, Steve’s hand interlaced with his own, and Steve’s mouth on his. He spaces out after that, and only comes back to earth when he hears Steve’s gentle, insistent voice repeating “Tony” into his ear while he brushes his fingers through Tony’s dark hair. “Relaxed?” Steve asks Tony with a smirk.

“Mmmhmmm,” is all Tony can manage.

Steve helps Tony sit up, instructing him to get dressed slowly. “I’ll be waiting outside for you with a glass of water when you’re ready.”

Tony catches him by the wrist. “What, uh, what about you?” Tony asks with a glance to Steve’s crotch. He’s not  _ that _ selfish in bed, no matter what the tabloids say.

Steve gives him an apologetic shrug. “I’ve got another appointment in five minutes. I’ll cope.” He disappears out the door before Tony can say another word and Tony feels shitty about it, but hey, he offered and Steve rejected him (not the first time it’s happened, won’t be the last). He chooses to focus on the happy, sated, post-coital feeling instead as he gets dressed. When he steps out into the hallway, Steve’s waiting for him, the promised glass of cold water in his hand. “Stay hydrated,” Steve tells him. “And be sure to stretch tonight before you go to sleep.”

Tony mock-salutes him. “Aye, aye, captain,” he says sarcastically.

Steve hands him the cup of water, their fingers just brushing together as he does so. (It doesn’t send shivers down Tony’s spine.  _ It doesn’t _ .) “I’m really glad we met, Tony,” Steve says. His blue eyes are shining and earnest and  _ fuck _ , Tony hasn’t ever had anyone look at him like that.

“Uh, I’m glad too. You’ve got the hands of a god,” Tony says. He turns and walks away quickly, too quickly, perhaps, but he doesn’t want to linger where he’s not needed (or wanted). He leaves Steve a hefty tip with the receptionist, and for the hell of it, he leaves a tip for Steph too, just to thank her for being too busy for him that morning. He’s nearly to his car by the time he finishes the water Steve had given him. He almost doesn’t notice the scribbled numbers on the side of the plastic cup, faint enough to be invisible at a distance.

_ Steve. 555-8669. _

Tony doesn’t stop smiling for the rest of the day.

**Author's Note:**

> Kudos & Comments are appreciated.


End file.
